


Are You the Gardener?

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [26]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 05:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: Crowley glanced round at the unknown voice and saw what looked like a student, who surprisingly didn't recoil from the dark glasses in recognition of "evil" Dr Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 37
Kudos: 1476
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Are You the Gardener?

"Are you the gardener?"

Crowley glanced round at the unknown voice and saw what looked like a student, who surprisingly didn't recoil from the dark glasses in recognition of "evil" Dr Crowley. "I work here," he temporised. "Why?"

The kid shrugged. "I like the plants?" Then, softer, as if it slipped out without realising, "Reminds me of home."

"Miss it, do you?" Crowley asked casually, as he went back to misting and inspecting the greenhouse plants before the round of lectures and lessons began.

"Just the garden." The kid's face closed up tight.

Crowley didn't push. "I've always been fond of gardens," he said instead. Outside, the spring air turned damper, and spots of rain spattered the glass. "Met my husband in one, after all."

There was a sudden patch of silence behind him, and feel of someone staring. He crossed to the miniature apple tree and slid onto the bench beside it so that he could check the soil of the raised bed without straining his leg. A glance showed him awe and reverence on the kid's face, as if some rare and precious creature had just suddenly shown up in front of them. Usually it was Aziraphale who ended up getting that kind of stare, but then again he aimed himself directly at people's gaydar. A wry smile tugged at the corners of Crowley's mouth. "New around here, are you?"

The kid stared a moment longer, then nodded jerkily and bolted.

Crowley gazed after them for a moment, then shrugged and got on with his day.

***

The kid came back a few days later, no longer staring, but still a little awed around the eyes and asked hesitantly, "Does it really get better?"

Crowley, who was having what Aziraphale referred to as a "rice krispy day - snap, crackle, and pop, all over" glanced over at them. His neck cracked quietly. "Yeah," he said, because that was clearly what the kid needed to hear. "Yeah, it does. Some days are better than others, of course."

"But you're happy?"

He shifted his weight, felt his hip pop and settle back, and his mouth tightened for a moment. "I have resting grouch face," he informed the kid solumnly. "If you want to see someone light up with happiness, you should ask Dr Fell about his husband."

"I couldn't do that!" the kid exclaimed. "He's a _professor_!"

"So-" _am I, kid,_ Crowley began.

The kid almost wailed, "So he's way too important to be bothered by someone like me!" and fled again.

***

The third time the kid showed up, Aziraphale was, quite deliberately, reading on one of the benches while Crowley worked.

"Hey, kid," Crowley said, spotting them. He flicked a deliberately casual hand in Aziraphale's direction. "Kid, my husband. Angel, this is the kid I mentioned."

Aziraphale closed his book as the kid approached and beamed. "Nice to meet you."

The kid took one good look, went chalk-pale, and crumpled. Aziraphale caught them with the practised speed of a man who's been reacting to a person falling at unexpected moments for over half his life, and lowered them onto the bench. "Dear me, what was that about?"

Crowley paused halfway through his twelfth swearword to mutter, "Kid's - scared?" and then went right back to swearing softly as he stumbled his way back to Aziraphale's side.

"Of _me_?" Aziraphale asked, startled, even as he checked the kid for pulse, breath, and obvious wounds. "Isn't that usually...?"

"My side of things, yeah." Crowley dropped onto the other end of the bench with a hiss of relief. "Well?"

"Looks fine."

The kid was stirring, mumbling frantic, incoherent apologies. Hands landed lightly on their thin shoulders, one soft and one bony.

"Easy," Crowley said. "It's fine. Breathe, kid. Just breathe."

Aziraphale produced a packet of biscuits from his coat pocket. Crowley passed over a bottle of water. The pair watched the kid's colour come back as they ate and drank.

"Now, my dear," Aziraphale asked. "What seems to be the problem?"


End file.
